Sunrise
by satanstolemycereal
Summary: Sunrise That's the first thing that penetrates Clark's eyelids. His eyelids slowly open, allowing his other senses to gather all of what has happened and is happening. He thinks about how unfair the situation is because right beside him, from what he can see, is only the most perfect being silently sleeping, defenseless, guard-down, all that crap. Bruce.


_Sunrise_

That's the first thing that penetrates Clark's eyelids. His eyelids slowly open, allowing his other senses to gather all of what has happened and is happening. Not much is happening, quite actively, at the moment but just the view softly tortures him. He thinks about how unfair the situation is because right beside him, from what he can see, is only the most perfect being silently sleeping, defenseless, guard-down, all that crap. Bruce. _The very Bruce is sleeping without giving a shit in the world. Next to me._ Those are the only thoughts kicking around inside Clark's head right now. He's already passed the part where he's slept with Bruce Wayne, Batman, the dark knight, been in his bed, got all dirty in the night with him. Clark's mostly stuck on how de-aged Bruce's face is. No furrow between his brows. No scowl hard enough to kill a thug with one glance. To add to it, dark strands carelessly line his forehead with his palm sunken deep into his cheek. With his lashes long and untamed. His lips lightly pouting, from the pressure of his hand balling up against his face.

Clark inches himself close enough to feel his warm shaky breath hovering over his own face. He lets his eye lids collapse, as he silently studies and matches the rhythmic breaths Bruce lets escape with his own breaths. His eyes snap back open to thoroughly investigate and search the scenery now. The first thing he notices, aside from Bruce's flawlessly shining raven hair or naturally breath taking appeal, is that all that's covering him is his shirt. A plain white button up, a size too large, hanging a little over his thighs and covering his hands, allowing only his fingertips to be seen toasted by the sun's warm kiss.

The large king size they're lying on is about 3 feet away from a window going up to a little lower than the ceiling, cracked open from Clark's rough entry last night. The sun letting itself in right through the crack blinding Clark, the only thing saving his eyes from going completely blind by UV rays are the fingers on his left hand as he uses his right arm to mount his torso upright in an attempt to make as little movement as possible. Clark's shirt being so carefully displayed on Bruce's form is also engulfed by the sun.

The bed starts to shift, to Clark's surprise, closer towards his direction. Bruce is curled an inch away from his chest and dark strands lightly brush against Clark's chin, curled like a cat. Clark's body is resting back onto the mattress again as he takes in this beautiful sight. Not only does he get a beautiful view of a defenseless dark knight, but curled up next to him, in his button up, peacefully dozing? Clark is in morning after heaven. He runs his tongue around his cracked lips, and takes a deep, long breath.  
His exhale is long, steady, but perfectly paced. He feels guilty for just feeling so happy about being so defenseless with Bruce right now, but he forgets all of that. He takes the ultimate advantage of the moment. He closes any gaps between them by wrapping his arm around Bruce's neck, slightly brushing over his translucent skin, resting his palm over the raven silky strands that freely fall through the cracks of his fingers.  
At this moment, Clark decides, Bruce isn't a knight. Not a prince. Not crazed bat vigilante. Bruce is human. He is as susceptible as any of them are. Them. Who the hell are _them_? Clark doesn't give the slightest damn because at this moment all he can take in is Bruce's natural _human_ beauty. Maybe it's the setting. The day after, glow. Having been able to get under the Batman's sheets. But at this moment, with Bruce's tassled, stringy hair; translucent scar-littered skin; long, wild lashes; and resting, eased face, while wearing his shirt, is all Clark needs. Bruce is all he needs.  
Bruce's face animates back to life as his eyes snap open, as if realizing Clark's deepest, darkest secrets, to reveal his, all-seeing ocean blue eyes. He tilts his head back letting out a single sharp, quick exhale right along Clark's chin.  
Clark can't help it but a chuckle begins to grow in his throat, then it grows longer, deeper, now it's laughter. Bruce has pouting face on again with his eyebrows lightly creased, but just enough to be human – not the batman. Dark strands straying from the rest dangling above his brows again. His deep ocean eyes glassy, with small crow's feet lining the corners and his lips slowly curving into a smile, then bearing teeth, white and pearly, now a breath taking cheek to cheek smile. His eyes form a squint, following through with the motion of his wide smile. Bruce's hands clasp Clark's cheeks causing them to have a tinge of pink spread across his face.

He brings his face closer to Clarks. Closer…closer…

They're breathing space apart now, and he finally lets out a whisper of his voice, "Good morning, boy scout."

Clark guesses that maybe his red face gives it all away, because Bruce is smiling again, now he's laughing. But to Clark, Bruce's laugh is sweet melody ringing in his ears. It's not blaring and low, not threatening or mocking at all. It's like a whisper – most likely because he's just woken up and isn't at his 100 percent – but his whole demeanor so gentle. It almost scares Clark. But he lets the warm, welcoming feeling engulf him, flood his body and heart until he feels like he's suffocating. It's warm. And without skipping a beat, Bruce's lips brush against Clark's. They're kissing now. It makes Clark feel full.

 _It's the sunrise._


End file.
